baby, it's a violent world
by PwnedByPineapple
Summary: A city rife with chaos and the chance meetings that it brings about. A story of seeking and finding. FACE family AU.


**Title:** baby, it's a violent world  
**Author:** PwnedByPineapple  
**Summary:** _A city rife with chaos and the chance meetings that it brings about. A story of seeking and finding. FACE family AU.  
_**Rating/Warning(s):** T; none  
**Notes:** The prompt was 'looking for a flat in a metropolis', and the specifications were a oneshot of a minimum of 700 words and an AU storyline.  
**Recommended Listening:** "Life In Technicolor II" by Coldplay

**Disclaimer: This fangirl owns nothing.**

* * *

It was a jarring blast in Alfred's ears, a powerful invisible force that knocked him clean off his feet. Searing heat blossomed, its fringes licking his side, and he staggered into the nearest grimy wall, reflexively closing his eyes and shielding his body as best he could. Debris was raining down on him, some of it piping hot, and he curled further into the wall, disoriented from the lurching of his head and the sudden attack upon his senses. Sound, smell, touch - everything was at once peculiarly heightened and strangely muted, and with his eyes closed and his other senses like so, Alfred felt wholly vulnerable. But he dared not open his eyes or move... at least until his mind caught up with his racing pulse and underlying consciousness.

_Explosion_... that was what it was, a bomb, a goddamned bomb in the middle of the East Quarter... and there was fire, fire in front of him, he could feel it, and something was tugging at his mind, something terribly urgent that only belatedly occurred to him when he'd finally taken back a fraction of the ability to think straight...

_Mattie!_

Alfred surged to his feet, heedless of whatever injuries he'd sustained. Before him, the entire abandoned apartment complex was ablaze, towering above him and beginning to take on a dreadful quality akin to the gates of hell as the flames leapt higher and higher. Alfred could hardly hear the fire's roar and crackle; his ears were buzzing, working far below their usual capacity, but he'd been lucky, oh so lucky - it had only been the very edge of the explosion that had caught him and more the physical shock it caused than anything else. Nevertheless, the sight caused Alfred's stomach to tighten - not because of any attachment, no, they'd only just found the place, but because his little brother was nowhere in sight.

A certain kind of panic was taking firm root within Alfred; it wasn't just the explosion that was causing his chest to heave. It was the panic of the protector, the father, the older brother - the instinct that reared its head at the slightest danger to the one to whom it attached itself, and the instinct that now screamed at Alfred to search. But at first he did not move.

There were voices nearby, impossible to make out but for a vague murmur that was different from the ringing in Alfred's ears. From his point between the burning building and its as-yet-untouched neighbor, he could see people moving in the nearest street before the burning apartment complex - clad in distinctive colors that marked them out as one of the East Quarter's brazen gangs and colors Alfred knew well. His fists clenched in sudden anger.

Those _bastards_! They were the reason Alfred and his brother had been driven from their old home in the first place, the reason they were seeking a new living space in this dump that, obvious now, was home to some kind of drug trafficking business. And now... and now... it was burning in whatever retaliation or terrorism those douchebags had decided to dish out, and Matthew was nowhere to be seen, and Alfred's dizzied brain was only just now remembering that they'd split up for a moment, a brief moment in which everything had gone wrong.

_Of course._ And Alfred was stumbling along as fast as he could go, hugging the wall and keeping his face averted from the flames, away from the distant gang members and towards the back of the burning building. Mattie had gone 'round to search for any signs of current inhabitance, he was just around the corner, he hadn't actually been _in _the building because that was just not possible. Alfred was going to find him there, scared but alive, and then they were going to get the hell away from his madhouse...

Giving the smoldering building a wide berth, Alfred entered the rear street at a run and skidded to a halt, feeling as if his entire being was plummeting with what he saw.

Matthew was not there. Others were, more gang members who looked at him for a split second before grabbing their weapons, and then Alfred was running, the pain in his legs be damned. He ran almost blindly, instinctive agility keeping him from careening into the walls of the maze that was this mostly empty part of the slums, and tears were streaming down his face as he did, regardless of the pursuit and the heat of a bullet too close to his cheek.

Mattie _wasn't_ in that building. He _wasn't_, and Alfred would be back to prove it, but he was no use to either of them dead... even if this kind of running felt painfully like he was abandoning his brother.

* * *

It was a section of the East Quarter that was home to nothing more than rats, the homeless, and the dealings of the gangs that plagued the East part of the city; it was plain to see that it had once been intended for lower-class living spaces, but as Arthur Kirkland vaguely recalled, a massive flaw had ruined the entire careful and government-designed order of the metropolitan system. It had proven unlivable as far as most were concerned; even those without claim to much wealth, if any, had standards in this ultramodern age, and a place where running water and basic electricity were unworkable was no place at all. So it was abandoned, and a damned ugly waste at that - at least ten square miles, a black spot in the lower part of the cityscape.

Not exactly the kind of accommodations Arthur had been looking for when he transferred to this extravagantly large city.

And thank God he lived elsewhere and in the West Quarter; though his gratefulness could only stretch so far, being forced to share living space with that damned Frenchman. It had been decent of Francis to offer his own place for Arthur to use, until he was able to secure his own apartment, but Arthur had forgotten just how much Francis Bonnefoy ticked him off.

And to think that they were working in the same department together...

Arthur shook his head, dragging himself back to the present matter. He couldn't afford to be distracted at the moment; the city's police department was currently mobilizing for a massive crackdown on the gang activity in the East Quarter, in response to an escalation of violence that had reached alarming levels. Killings and bombing were only the biggest factors, and not even the reason Arthur was here, in one of the many abandoned apartment complexes that dominated the inner-city wasteland. No - the reason today was a routine investigation of a known drug trafficking spot, an easy enough task for a lieutenant only recently transferred and still settling in.

"Come out slowly, with your hands where I can see them!" Arthur barked, and his grip was steady at he trained his handgun on the lanky figure that lurked in the shadows of the second floor, near the stairwell. Arthur's eyes were sharp, else he might not have even noticed the boy, who had been concealed effectively. But now the youth was standing some distance before him, palms open and out to show his lack of weaponry. His clothes were ragged and worn, his probably golden hair a mess that was more brown than anything from grime; a pair of glasses perched crookedly on his nose, and behind them, flaring blue eyes.

Must have been fifteen, sixteen at most; certainly Arthur didn't like finding someone so young here. But the allure of drugs, the power of gang life, attracted kids like this in droves, and he'd be damned if he let this one spiral even further down whatever bad path he was walking.

"I don't want to hurt you," Arthur said slowly, calmly. "But I'm going to have to take you back to the station, to-"

"You don't understand!" the boy cried out. The look in his eyes was almost wild and incredibly defensive. He opened his mouth to speak again, but nothing came out, and only another try brought forth words. "I don't give a shit about drugs or whatever the hell you're looking for, because _I'm _looking for my brother."

"Oh?" said Arthur noncommittally, warily. There was clear distress in the boy's eyes, and he didn't think it to be of a guilty nature. But there were skilled liars in this world, and Arthur didn't relent. "Care to elaborate?"

The boy flapped a hand in a vague gesture north, urgency entering his tone. "That building that blew up over there... me 'n Mattie were looking for a place to stay for a while, only we didn't realize what went on there, and then... and then it exploded, and we got separated, but I _know_ he wasn't in there, I checked." There was a militant gleam of defiance in his eyes as he said this, as if he was trying to convince himself of the fact. "I checked everywhere, so I know he was outside when it blew, and I figure the gangs chased him off. Or they have him. But he's _not _dead." This last was said ferociously, with a kind of anguish that made Arthur lower his gun out of surprise - not at the words, but at the reaction they brought forth in him.

This kid wasn't lying. There was not a breath of untruth in his entire story, disjointed though it was, and Arthur cast a furtive glance around to make sure his men were nowhere near. Good; he could hear them at various other spots in the empty building, but none even remotely near, perhaps not even on the second floor.

"You think it's possible they have him?" Arthur asked abruptly.

The boy's eyes widened in shock, losing their hostility, though suspicion followed shortly. "Why?" he demanded.

"Because the majority of the force is hell-bent on taking this city's gangs down," Arthur answered. "And I don't want to see a couple of children caught in the middle of it."

The suspicion softened only a little. Finally, the boy shook his head. "No," he said, with a tinge of confidence to his voice; he'd obviously given it some thought. "Mattie's too smart and fast. But he might've had to run far, and that's why I can't find him." And now quiet desperation followed, lacing his voice and making Arthur's heart twist in pity.

"Then you'd best keep looking," Arthur advised. "And fast, too. It's only a matter of time before this entire zone becomes a battleground." After a moment, he ventured an idea that had rapidly come to him, because damn it all, he couldn't just leave the kid like this. "I can help. I can have every cop in this area on the lookout and..."

He stopped suddenly, because the boy had backed away several meters, nearly to the stairwell now and once more partially shielded by shadows. "No," the kid said harshly. "We don't need help from the cops. S'not like you guys have ever done anythin' for us before."

It was a common attitude that one encountered in this part of the city, unfortunate though it was. Arthur opened his mouth to reassure the kid, but paused. He hadn't gotten the child's name.

When he took in a breath to ask this question instead, all he found was an empty stairwell.

* * *

Francis Bonnefoy had expected many things on this raid: a firefight, blood, danger, and he'd certainly not been disappointed. However, the last thing he'd expected was the thing that collided into him as he turned a corner - a teenager, though a small one at that, wide-eyed and with breath coming in terrified gasps. With the collision, the child lashed out on instinct, but he struck only a glancing blow on Francis's arm, and Francis caught his fist, firm but gentle.

"Lemme go!" the boy said, tugging to no avail.

He was blond and bespectacled, and his entire appearance was dismal and dirty: a child straight off the streets, no doubt, and caught in the middle of something too big for him. Ignoring the boy's protests for a moment, Francis pulled him back around the corner and into a more tucked away area, where he could easily fend off any approaching danger.

"Easy now," Francis said soothingly. "I'm not your enemy."

The boy froze - perhaps at the accent, or the suddenly noticed uniform, or the general unfamiliarity that Francis presented. But the child's eyes were wary, like a cornered animal, and his hand, still locked in Francis's own, was tensed.

What he was doing here, Francis couldn't be sure. This was the worst part of the East Quarter, even for its abandoned sector - it was the heart of the East's problem, and Francis's squad had been ordered to raid the very edge of that vital area. He certainly hadn't expected a child to be present, however, and one who looked so wholly nonthreatening at that. _I must get him to safety._

"I need to get out of here," the kid whispered, as if sensing Francis's thoughts. "I-I don't know where this is, I was only looking for my brother but then everyone started shooting and..." here he stopped suddenly, swallowing. "You're a cop?"

"Yes," Francis answered gently, studying the boy's reaction - still hesitant, still wary, perhaps even more so, but determined as well. "And I take it you're _not _involved in drug trafficking, are you?" His tone was very lightly teasing, to put the kid at ease, and it seemed to be working.

The child shook his head, and Francis released his hold on the kid, to bring his hand up to rest on the boy's shoulder. His other hand, still clutching his gun, rested carefully at his side, ready at a moment's notice to defend. "I'll get you out," Francis promised, dropping his hand from the boy's shoulder to grab his transmitter. "Gilbert, where _are _you?"

He heard his own voice echoing around the corner, and a moment later, a head poked around the edge of the building, grinning. "You hadn't caught up, so I fell back. Who's this fella?" Gilbert, with his albino features making a distinct impression in the gloom of the narrow streets, strode forward and peered down at the child, who shrank back and gave the impression that he would flee at any moment.

"Don't scare him," Francis chided. "This is- I didn't catch your name, child." He directed a reassuring smile at the boy.

After a moment, the quiet answer - "Matthew."

Francis nodded and continued. "He's a civilian," and that was with significant emphasis, "so I'm bringing him back to the safe zone."

"And I'm supposed to come because we were given strict orders not to move on solo," Gilbert said with a sigh. "Awesome. Whatever, this area's been mostly cleared anyway. They're being pushed back to their center, and with any luck, we can it a day soon." The German stretched his arms and tossed a grin in Matthew's direction. "Nice to meet'cha, kid. Name's Gilbert Beilschmidt, and yes, I'm foreign-born."

Matthew didn't answer, still looking rather pale and nervous, and Francis offered his own name - talking would distract him, ease him. "And my name is Francis. You said you were looking for your brother?"

A quick nod was his answer. "But... I don't think he's here. I was heading back to... to where we got separated when the fighting started." Matthew cast his eyes down, and Francis understood that his nerves drew, in part, from concern over his family member.

Had to be a street kid. That was the only reason Matthew and his brother would even be in this part of the East Quarter, and already Francis was determined to see that they would not remain here. This was no place for children.

"Come," he said, beckoning for Matthew to follow; Gilbert was already moving back south, leading the way and keeping his eyes peeled for any criminal stragglers or those trying to escape the round-up. "We'll help you find your brother, too, as soon as we reach a safer area."

Follow Matthew did - reluctantly, hesitantly, and Francis's neck threatened to ache from how much he turned his head to make sure the boy was still behind him. They moved from the narrower, dirtier streets into slightly more decent areas soon enough, though that wasn't saying much; this whole place was filthy, both in appearance and in what went on in these dark streets.

By the time they reached the safe zone, the sky was beginning to show the first signs of darkening. Gilbert at once hurried ahead to find the captain in charge of their division, in order to deliver his report, and Francis moved gratefully towards the line of armored vehicles and gathered officers. Finally, he didn't have to watch his back every second, and he could get some proper assistance for the boy.

When he turned around to reassure Matthew of his help, he found the child gone.

* * *

It was a luxury apartment, wide and spacious enough to accommodate five people with ease, but as things stood at the moment, even two was a little too crowded for Arthur's liking.

He flipped idly through the newspaper until he found the advertisements and then invested his attention in searching out the housing ads and perusing them, ignoring his temporary living partner with a practiced air. Even so, his attention to the newspaper was, to be honest, nonexistent - he'd been staring at the same sentence for a few minutes before he registered what it said. His focus was gone - drawn back to the events of today, to the look on that boy's face and his sudden disappearance, and more immediately, distracted by Francis's abnormally quiet behavior.

Normally, the Frenchman would be teasing, particularly in the kitchen. There was no denying the cooking skills that Francis possessed, far superior to Arthur's own, though Arthur would never admit that fact aloud. Francis would joke and mock, and Arthur would ignore him and occasionally offer verbal sparring, and that was how it had been in the three weeks since Arthur had transferred to Francis's department, moved to this grand metropolis.

Finally, Arthur tore his eyes away from an advertisement for a studio flat and looked up at the Frenchman, narrowing his eyes. Francis was moving about the kitchen and preparing dinner silently, his mind obviously elsewhere, and Arthur lay the newspaper down on the counter and turned in his stool, folding his arms.

"What's gotten into you?" he asked brusquely. It wasn't like he was concerned - obviously not, he couldn't really stand the fellow despite being longtime acquaintances, but... Francis _had _offered his own place as residence until Arthur could find a comfortable flat. Arthur supposed it was polite to be grateful and at least act concerned.

Francis lifted his head and turned from the stove, frowning. "Pardon?"

Something truly was bothering him; it was painfully obvious. "You aren't being your usual irritating self," Arthur pointed out.

After a moment, a small smile crossed the Frenchman's face. "And do you miss that, _mon ami_?"

Arthur very deliberately rolled his eyes to make his message clear. "_No. _But this moodiness isn't much better. Is it the raid?"

They'd both been on duty today, though Francis had been assigned the more dangerous job in the very heart of the East Quarter's drug zone - a fact that had rankled with Arthur quite a bit, but he supposed it was because Francis wasn't a new transfer. But if something had happened...

"Yes," Francis said softly and walked over to the counter, busying his hands with grabbing the bag of flour and opening it. "... I was in the middle of it when I found a boy; a street child, I suppose."

Arthur hadn't been expecting an outright confession, but the words themselves gave him a pause. Wait a minute...

Francis frowned down at the flour and carried it over to the bowl beside the stove. "He said he was looking for his brother... that he'd gotten caught in the shootout... I offered to help him, but when I brought him to safety, he disappeared. I suppose he had no reason to trust me, and yet..."

He'd finished measuring out the flour and turned to look back at Arthur a moment, only to find Arthur gazing at him in shock. The Englishman's memories of the day were assaulting him with full force now, and he recalled the boy he'd found on his own little raid... the boy who'd been hunting for his missing brother, who'd vanished before Arthur could even attempt to help...

"What was his name?" Arthur asked abruptly.

Francis gave him a thoughtful frown. "He said it was Matthew."

Arthur hadn't obtained any sort of name from the boy he'd met, but the kid had mentioned the name Mattie... it couldn't be a coincidence...

Quietly, Arthur related his own story, and when he had finished, Francis was gazing at him in equal astonishment. "_Mon dieu_," he murmured, almost to himself. "To think... on the very same day... God works in mysterious ways indeed." He set the measuring cup down decisively as Arthur refrained from commenting. Francis's eyes were firm; Arthur wondered if he'd already made the decision, even before bringing the subject up. "Arthur, we must find them."

"I know," the Englishman replied. It was plain to see that they were thinking along very similar lines; for his part, he hadn't been able to quite bury the day's events... to see the desperation, the determination in that child's eyes... surely he had a family _somewhere_, not just a brother. Runaways, maybe, but surely not orphans?

Or perhaps they were. Such things were depressingly common in that part of the city.

"Tomorrow?" he asked uncertainly.

Francis nodded. "I'll request to be sent on patrol with you. We will scour that wasteland, if we must." There was a similar kind of determination in the Frenchman's eyes, and Arthur wondered if that was mirrored in his own. Certainly all of the customary antagonism had vanished from between them.

Children had that effect, after all.

* * *

Matthew was getting rather tired of guns.

First had been the explosion; it had startled him so much that he'd run blindly, just to get away, and there had been men there, who'd fired a few shots after him as he'd run. By the time he'd lost all of his breath, been too exhausted to go another step, he was entirely alone, in a part of the slums that seemed devoid of all life. Alfred had been nowhere in sight, and it was only then that Matthew remembered his brother being on the other side of that building. Maybe even inside it... but no, absolutely not, Matthew had refused to believe that.

However, he was lost, so completely lost that he couldn't even see the smoke from the burning building. His cautious exploration hadn't taken him to Alfred; rather, by the time the next day came around, all he'd received for his efforts had been a growling stomach and more guns. This time, it was the cops raiding the area, and Matthew had realized just where he'd wandered... one of the most dangerous parts of the East Quarter.

He probably wouldn't have gotten out if that cop hadn't helped him. Matthew had almost felt bad for disappearing on him like that, but he couldn't afford to go with him to the police station or wherever. Francis had seemed nice enough, but several years of ingrained mistrust of authority were hard to overcome, and there was no time for paperwork and whatever else constituted a search for a missing person.

The mistrust, the fear, it hadn't always been that way - Matthew's memories were vague, but there was a time that they hadn't been on the streets... but no matter how clear those memories might have become had he dwelled on them, such things were a little too painful to recall.

Now he rested, nestled in a narrow alley and waiting for the sun to rise. He hadn't dared to keep searching at night; he and Alfred hadn't had time to arrange for any rendezvous spots, being so newly arrived to this abandoned sector of the East, and it had fallen down to plain old grid searching once he'd recovered his scattered, frightened wits enough and gotten to a calmer part of the empty area.

Still... he had the nagging feeling that he and Alfred kept missing each other by mere blocks.

Finally, it was light enough for him to see some distance, and Matthew rose from his corner, drawing his thin jacket tighter around his body. There was an early morning chill in the air, and only movement would dispel it, so he walked forward, cautiously peering out of the alley and into the empty, disused, and horribly rutted street.

Nothing, which was both a good and bad thing.

_Alfred, where are you?_ Matthew carefully picked his way down the street, straining his senses for any hint of life. In one alley he saw the vague outline of man, definitely homeless, sprawled out in the shadows, but he was too big to be Alfred. Matthew pressed resolutely on, resigning himself to a long day of more searching. But he _was_ going to find Alfred. He _was_. There wasn't any other choice; Alfred was pretty much the only reason that this kind of life was worth living, and Matthew knew it went both ways. He didn't like to think of how worried Alfred must be; his twin was the kind who'd tear apart the entire city and anyone who got in his way to find Matthew, and the latter desperately hoped he hadn't gotten himself into trouble because of it.

Matthew dearly loved his brother, but sometimes Alfred wasn't the most sensible of people.

He crept along for several more minutes, until the sound of a car made him freeze.

A moment later, he ducked into the shadows of an empty building, crouching down beside the open doorway and giving himself only a inch with which to peer into the street. A ragged car came peeling down the road, passing the building only a little before pulling to a halt. Three men got out, consulting amongst themselves for a moment - something about clearing the area - and then they spread out.

And one was headed directly for Matthew's building.

He backpedaled, glancing wildly around the dark room. There seemed to be no second floor, but a pitch-black doorway led deeper into the building, and Matthew ran for it as silently as possible... until several rats came spilling out of the doorway the moment he set a foot on it, one actually crossing his over his feet; an involuntary cry of disgust and surprise was torn from his mouth.

After a moment of panic, Matthew switched directions at once; he could _not_get cornered. Instead, he summoned all of the speed he possibly could and burst out of the building just as the man appeared at a run in the doorway, gun drawn. The man fell back in surprise as Matthew pushed past him, and then Matthew was making a mad dash for freedom. The end of the street was close; if he could just reach it, he could escape - he was fast, and he could lose them in the maze of alleys...

A hand grabbed his arm, yanking him back, and he fought wildly, seeing only the looming shadow of a man above him, trying to restrain him. Matthew could hear the man talking harshly to his fellows, but the blood was pounding too hard in his ears to understand what was being said. He had to get away. These weren't cops, and the fact that they had a car in this part of town made it only too clear that they were gang members. He _had _to get away...

There was a yell, and something crashed into the man holding Matthew. Matthew felt the grip involuntarily loosen, and he pulled away, stumbling back. A sudden blurring of his eyes made the entire world fuzzy, but he'd recognize that blond head anywhere, so like his own. "Alfred!"

Alfred, with righteous brotherly fury, kicked the man squarely in the balls, and the man was down, groaning. For a moment, Alfred stood triumphant, glaring down at his victim. "Good thing I decided to follow you bastards," he spat out. But one of the others nearest to them rushed forward, at Alfred's back, and Matthew charged forward himself. His fist was small, but he'd spent enough years on the streets - his hand came up at the perfect angle and smashed into the other man's nose. That one fell back, swearing, and suddenly Alfred was grabbing Matthew's wrist, pulling him away and into a run.

They dashed around a corner at a dizzying speed, not daring to slow down for fear of the third pursuing them. A gunshot echoed, but it was distantly echoed, and they were swerving too much to make an easy target. However, that wasn't the problem.

There was an echo of an engine revving up, and Matthew felt his stomach twist even as he ran. God, no - the men were going to follow in the car! He could already hear the wheels ripping across the street, and Alfred was angling them toward the narrowest alley he could find, but would they be fast enough? Matthew had a sudden vision of himself and his brother run over by those merciless tires, and it gave him an extra burst of strength, though only for a moment.

And then Alfred stopped dead for a split second, gazing in uncomprehending fear at the car that had just come speeding around the corner ahead, and Matthew took the opportunity to push him with all of his might onto the sidewalk, out of the way of the police cruiser.

* * *

"Here is as good a place as any," Francis said, uncharacteristically pessimistic in tone.

It was understandable. The abandoned sector of the East Quarter was rather large when one was searching for two children who could be on completely opposite ends; even though Francis had given the word to all of their fellows on duty to keep a look-out, the task was daunting. Officially, Arthur and Francis were just patrolling, and they'd made a tacit agreement with the chief to use this as an opportunity to scout the area; though, of course, wasting time on actual scouting was not practical, given the job ahead of them.

The road was empty, any of its homeless inhabitants having scattered at the sight of a police cruiser. The two policemen stood before the car, surveying the area; a daunting task, indeed, but they were determined.

"Well," began Arthur, "we can start by sweeping each street and checking out the buildings..."

He cut off at the sounds of shouting, some distance ahead - adult voices, but also a child's.

On an unspoken word, the two of them ran back to the car, Arthur sliding into the driver's seat while Francis took shotgun. Just before he closed the door, Arthur heard the crack of a gun, and then he was speeding off, flicking on the police lights; not a thought was given to road safety. He'd pinpointed the sounds well enough, and as he rounded the nearest corner, taking a wild right, he saw them - the two boys, nearly identical at this distance, running straight for them.

"I'll be damned," Arthur said, swerving, but one of them had already pushed the other out of the way. An incredulous laugh escaped him. "Maybe there is a God after all!"

A little expert maneuvering turned the car into a shield for the boys, and the oncoming car that had been chasing them was forced to make a sharp turn. Francis immediately jumped out, crouching low as he ran for the kids, and Arthur slid out through the Frenchman's seat as well, keeping the car between himself and the unknown enemy. His gun was already out, its safety off, and he peered over the car to see the other vehicle already pulling away.

It was no use following. For all Arthur may have despised gang members, they were smart enough to pick their fights, and so was he. As the rusty car disappeared, Arthur waited cautiously until he was sure it was gone. Then, shaking his head, he rose to a stand and turned around to get a good look at the boys for whom he was performing all of this dangerous heroism.

Up close, the differences between them became more clear. The boy Arthur had met was taller, his hair a darker blond, and there was something in his expression that bespoke a fierceness, an instinct to fight or flee that perhaps wasn't so prominent in his brother, whom Arthur assumed was Matthew. Matthew was gazing at Arthur and particularly Francis in open amazement, from behind his brother's protectively encircling stance.

"I see you found him without my help," Francis said to Matthew, smiling.

The other brother's eyes flicked to Matthew briefly. "You know this guy?" he asked, though his eyes were on Arthur, questioning.

Matthew nodded. "He helped me yesterday. I didn't think..." he trailed off for a moment, seemingly rather overwhelmed, then whispered "... you came back to find us?"

"That we did," Francis affirmed. "I believe my partner here was just as eager to find your brother."

"You know him?" it was Matthew's turn to ask of his brother, wide-eyed.

Arthur's gaze was locked with the kid's. "Yeah," the brother said, after a moment. "Yesterday. I met him. He offered to help. Why?" This was directed at Arthur, almost suspicious in its questioning, but his query did not refer to the previous day.

After a moment, Arthur shrugged; he had no desire to understand his own motivations, and he was not inclined to think of himself as a particularly good person. It was just something that in all decency had to be done. "Is is that hard to believe?" He took a few steps forward, until he stood before the two of them. "What's your name, lad?"

The brother cast his eyes downward, as if debating with himself. "Alfred," he said, looking up again, arm tightening against Matthew's shoulder. "What are you planning on doing with us, then?"

Francis stepped up to Arthur's side. "Well, we'll get you out of here, for one thing," he said. "Unless you'd rather stay."

"No," both brothers avowed at once, through the raggedness and exhaustion of their appearance, and the policemen smiled.

* * *

The station was bustling, as usual - it was a busy time for the city's police force, and no one paid the odd group much attention. It was just as well - Francis didn't think the boys would have appreciated it much. They were shockingly dirty and underfed, and he and Arthur hurried them through the lobby and into a private waiting room as quickly as possible.

Neither of the boys had said much since they'd been rescued, but Francis was determined to get them to speak, now; he had to, since he'd taken responsibility for them. "Are you runaways?" he asked gently. The boys were seated together on a couch, with Francis across from them in a chair, and Arthur standing behind the chair, arms folded.

"No," Matthew said, after a moment; Alfred seemed disinclined to answer. "Um... our mother died a couple of years ago. We've been living on our own ever since." He gave Francis an earnest glance as he said this.

"I believe you," Francis said with a nod. "Do you have a last name?"

It was Alfred who shrugged. "Dunno. Mom never told us who our dad was, and I don't think she had a last name."

How odd; unless she'd been a part of one of those native groups who never took on surnames, in honor of their old ways of life. Francis could almost believe it; both Alfred and Matthew were fair-skinned, but the lightness of their skin had a certain natural tan to it under the grime. Of course, assuming it were true, that would make it all the more difficult to find either boy in any database. First names weren't the most ideal basis to go by.

"Do you have any family at all?" Arthur asked, breaking Francis out of his musings.

Both boys shook their heads mutely.

A few more questions, accompanied by reluctant answers, gave him all the information that Francis suspected he could get. Murmuring thanks, some meaningless reassurance, Francis nodded to the two and pulled Arthur out the door, leaving a small crack through which to see the children.

"Without family, we're not going to find any place for them," Francis said, low. "It means they'd have to go into the foster system."

Arthur's eyes narrowed as a scowl took up residence. "No," he said, just as low and rather vehement. "I would not put any child into that system if I could help it."

Francis shrugged; he was of the same opinion. "Then what do you propose?"

Arthur's gaze had become thoughtful. He glanced back into the room, where Alfred and Matthew had huddled together, talking. "There is one option," he said at length.

Francis knew exactly what he was thinking. He'd known the man for years, no matter what their opinions of each other might have been, and one did not hold an acquaintance for so long without learning something about the other. "You propose that we take them in?" he said and was careful to include 'we', which Arthur did not fail to notice.

It was Arthur's turn to shrug. "At least temporarily," he said. "Until better arrangements can be found." His gaze was drawn back into the room, on Matthew, on Alfred. "... I can't get his look out of my head."

Francis nodded in understanding; he, too, found himself recalling Matthew's eyes when the boy had run into him, a frightened child trying to survive. "For once..." he said, smiling faintly, "I agree with you." He sighed, then, rubbing his neck at the imagined stress before them; there would likely be very little to be found on Alfred and Matthew anywhere in the databases. "The paperwork will be hell to deal with."

"We'll get Kiku to help," Arthur said distantly. "He's good with that."

But Francis's attention was back in the room, gazing through the crack in the door. Of course, it all depended on how the boys took it. He couldn't imagine they'd want to go into the foster system, but their very postures displayed an almost animal wariness that would not be easy to overcome.

"We'll have to ask them," he said quietly.

"That we shall," Arthur agreed. "Think they'll agree?"

Yes, Francis answered silently, and he knew it to be true. They would. It was a simple fact that those who'd lived such a life would take whatever they could get in this harsh world.

* * *

"No," Alfred said mulishly.

Arthur's expression was pretty hilarious - at once outraged and almost pleading. "You don't have a choice," he said, his temper beginning to bleed through his tone; he was much too easy. "It's mandatory!"

"So? I'm not starting in a younger grade!"

Matthew had readily agreed, but then again, he'd always been like that. Alfred, on the other hand... even if he'd actually enjoyed being schooled, he was not about to look like an idiot just because he'd missed a few years.

However, though the fact was indeed inevitable, it was just too funny to see Arthur riled up.

"It's not even actual school!" Arthur snapped. "We hired you a private tutor, for God's sake, and you'd better be grateful!"

Alfred _was_ grateful - for everything, every single damned thing. It had been a few months since those fateful few days back in the East Quarter, and now look where he and Mattie were - the West Quarter itself, in some fancy-ass apartment that Francis could afford because he'd been rich before becoming a policeman. They had food and clothes and an actual home... and all because two random cops were some of the only decent people in the world. Grateful didn't even _begin _to cover it.

But just because he owed these men everything didn't mean he could have some fun. Alfred sighed dramatically. "Fine. Whatever, _Mom_."

Arthur's face turned an interesting red color as Alfred practically skipped over to Francis and Matthew with a grin on his face. The Englishman opened his mouth, no doubt to yell, and then abruptly closed it when he realized that Alfred was indeed going, despite his protests.

A huge sigh was all Alfred received for his trouble. "Just go," Arthur snapped, waving his hand at the door. "Have fun."

Alfred blew him a kiss, laughing, and Francis snorted. "I'll see you at work, then," the Frenchman said to Arthur, and then added, smirking, "Mother dear."

They made a beeline out the door before bad things could happen, and Matthew bumped Alfred's shoulder as they walked down the hall towards the staircase. "You shouldn't provoke him so much," Alfred's twin said, though there was a small, amused smile on his face. "You're going to give him a heart attack one day."

"Aw, he's a big guy, he can handle it," Alfred said breezily, following as Francis and Matthew descended the staircase, towards the lobby and to the garage and Francis's car. However, as they walked, he made a mental note to thank Arthur somehow, in the least obvious way possible.

Hmm. Maybe he could actually do the dishes, for once.

* * *

Arthur collapsed into one of the lazy chairs with a grateful sigh, once the apartment was empty. He'd have to get up in a little while to head to the station, but for now, he took advantage of the peace and quiet. Good God. He'd never actually paid attention when others said that parenting was much more than a taxing job; he'd always considered himself up to any challenge, but he hadn't expected this one to be so exhausting...

Well, thank God at least one of them was reasonable.

Chuckling to himself, Arthur absently picked up the newspaper. His mind was far from it, however; he flipped through several pages without really seeing them, but a certain page made him pause.

The ads. More specifically, the housing ads.

Goodness, he'd completely forgotten about his search for a flat of his own.

Arthur gazed at the ads for a moment, contemplating, then closed the newspaper and set it aside. This particular apartment was a veritable madhouse now - having to deal with Francis on a daily basis, with mischievous twins who knew exactly which buttons to press and how to get what they wanted; particularly Alfred, the little terror. It was crazy and stressful and drove Arthur up the wall at times, and often he found himself seriously contemplating the idea of a year-long vacation on a beach, where no one could find him.

No, Arthur thought, in a sentiment kept close, that he'd only ever express to himself - in the end and given the choice, he wouldn't trade it for anything.


End file.
